Did You Miss Me?
by blueicicle
Summary: Sherlock told John he loved him, thinking he would never see him again. Little did he know, he would return home only minutes later. Spoilers for His Last Vow. One-shot.


**My first fic! This is exploring what might have happened had Sherlock professed his love to John before heading onto that little plane in His Last Vow. A few swears, not many though. Hope you enjoy!**

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Sherlock always prided himself on making snap decisions. Deducing, thinking quickly, those were his talents, his pride and joy. Usually he could make a few minutes seem like hours in his head.

But these seconds, these precious few seconds, were slipping away like grains of sand through fingers.

He was due to get on that plane in about two minutes, and he could barely bring himself to speak. He had been reliably informed many times that he couldn't shut up, but when it really counted, he couldn't form a single syllable.

He made a few comments about baby names, trying to ease the tension. Silence followed.

Sherlock glanced up for a moment, appealing to a deity he didn't believe in. John seemed just as awkward, looking around, seemingly avoiding the detective's eyes.

The silence was broken, as John swung his vision back to the taller man. "Yeah," he mumbled. "You know, I can't think of a single thing to say."

Sherlock shook his head. "Neither can I."

He almost looked back at John, but he couldn't quite. Instead he focused his gaze over the doctor's shoulder, on the horizon.

"The game… is over."

That snapped Sherlock back to attention. "The game is never over, John." It may be changed, but never over. "But there may be some new players, now," And an absent one, he thought. "That's okay. The east wind takes us all in the end."

He relayed to John the story of the East Wind, and answered John's questions about where he was going, and for how long. His mouth was running on autopilot, while his brain tried to figure out what to say to John. Normally he wouldn't even be considering what he wanted to say, but he was about to go on a suicide mission. What better time could come up? And besides, it had just enough drama to satisfy him. He did always prefer the dramatic way of doing things.

He looked down at his shoes again (Were they always that blurry?), summoning his courage.

"John, there's something… I should say… I-I meant to say always, and I never have," Where were these words coming from? "Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again," Saying it just made everything more real. "I might as well say it now." He took another breath, steadying himself. You know what? No, he didn't really want to do this anymore. Just tell him that Sherlock is a girl's name, he thought. Tell him anything else. But his mouth was too far ahead to be stopped.

"John Watson, I'm in love with you."

Though he'd never admit it, he was expecting a good reaction. A hug, a laugh (a kiss was a bit far, but a man could hope), but he didn't expect just a blink.

John's face seemed to lengthen, jaw dropping and eyes going wide. Sherlock realized he was shaking, an enormous weight lifted off of his mind.

John blinked exactly three more times, and then seemed to shake himself to action. "Sorry, you're… I mean you… me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes you, do you see any other John Watson's around?" He noticed the older man's quickly furrowing brow, and sighed. "No, this isn't a dare, or a trick, or a prank, no one set me up to this, and no, you're not insane or dreaming."

Sensing that his friend needed something to respond to, he held out his hand. "To the very best of times, John."

After a moment, he raised his hand to grasp Sherlock's, holding it as if it were a lifeline. "Sherlock-"

Reluctantly, the detective slipped his hand out of the grasp he so desperately wanted, pulling on his gloves. He turned, blinking away tears. Now he could leave John peacefully, knowing that his friend knew the truth.

The climb onto the small plane seemed like a death march, with all of his loved ones watching, yet doing nothing to stop his ascent.

The plane was small, yet comfortable, and he chose a seat where he could see John through the small window. He was still standing there, with a stunned expression on his face. The last glimpse Sherlock saw, was Mary reaching for her husband.

He could be thankful for the fact that it didn't matter how John felt. It was almost a win-win, he supposed. He got that agonizing weight off of his chest, and nothing would be awkward. There was the small detail that he was going to die in six months, but he'd worry about that later.

"Sir?" The co-pilot interrupted his musings. "It's your brother."

Sherlock reached for the phone that was being offered, and held it to his ear.

"Mycroft."

"Hello, little brother. How's the exile going?"

"I've only been gone four minutes!" Most peaceful four minutes of his life, in his opinion.

"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson."

Shit.

"As it turns out, you're needed."

Again, shit. "Oh, for God's sake, make up your mind! Who needs me this time?" Please don't be in London, please don't be in London…

"England."

Fuck.

Just as he was composing a new curse, the in-flight entertainment screens flicked on.

"Did you miss me?"

Even this peace he had, even this, was ruined by him. Now he'd have to go back and deal with John, and to top it all off, he was alive.

Sherlock voiced his thoughts this time.

"Oh, fuck you Jim!"

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**I'm pretty sure I'm going to keep this as a one-shot, but let me know if you think I should continue! Thanks for reading!**


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